Cramped Quarters
by missing-lynk
Summary: My first House, MD fic. Wuddy. A train ride from NYC to Princeton gives Cuddy a revelation. One minor swear word and harmless flirting. R/R!


You would think these trains would have nicer seats.

I slumped over in mine, watching the Penn Station terminal fade into a dark black tunnel as the 8:38 p.m. train hurtled back to Princeton. Part of me regretted not driving into the city, but part of me knew I'd be too exhausted to function behind the wheel at the end of such a grueling day.

I readjusted for what seemed like the twentieth time, and as I did, my knee knocked against the person sitting next to me.

"Sorry, Wilson," I said. "These seats are so damn uncomfortable. I almost can't wait to get back to my office at this point."

"Mmm. You know it's been a long day when your desk chair is a welcomed reprieve," Wilson replied, then let out a sigh. The day had worn the both of us out.

Wilson and I had taken the train to the city to attend a daylong conference at Columbia University. I sat through meetings, expos and information sessions on the importance of having a "green hospital." Wilson was shuffled over to the Radiation Oncology unit to learn about the newest breakthroughs in cancer treatment.

We finally were able to meet again at "continental lunch" – a very un-appetizing sandwich and a bag of pretzels each. I grinned, remembering Wilson's wistful and classically mumbled reaction: "It was steak day at the cafeteria. I missed steak day for this. Not that the steak is outstanding, really, but when you're faced with crappy convention food it makes steak day seem like paradise."

By the time we had navigated our way back to Penn Station, all of the trains departing on the NEC line were local. Instead of a smooth, hour-long express ride back to Princeton, we faced an extra 40 minutes of stops throughout the northeast corner of the state: Newark Airport, Elizabeth, Linden, Rahway, Metropark, Metuchen, Edison, and other dingy North Jersey cities that I had no interest in.

Our knees brushed again as the train slugged into Secaucus. I shifted in my seat, giving another apologetic mumble. Wilson smiled bashfully and politely pivoted himself away, though the half-inch of free space did little to help.

We were barely on the way to Newark when I felt the light brush of fabric again. This time I didn't react. I wasn't about to keep shifting around in cramped quarters for the sake of a few awkward brushes.

Not that they were awkward. In fact, I was sort of…enjoying the contact with him.

My professional life is defined by formal contact. I greet potential employees and hospital administrators with three distinct moves: a firm handshake, unwavering eye contact and a fake but killer smile. It's never more than that, and it's not as if I have much free time to remember what it's like to touch someone beyond extending my hand.

Being brushed up against Wilson felt pleasant and calming and yet a little devious all at once. Heat started spreading from my neck to my cheeks as I started pondering why our two dates never resulted in any physical contact.

Because they really weren't dates, I reminded myself. Still, I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt so comfortable next to someone.

Another jolt brought our knees from brushing to full-contact. I felt a thrill when Wilson didn't politely shift away this time.

As I began to deftly loosen my hair out of its bun, I decided I could play this game – but only if he was playing, too. "You know, that three-seater just opened up," I said, pointing across the aisle as a couple departed. "I could always…stretch out over there for a bit," I said casually.

"You could," he replied, but made no effort to stand up to let me out.

I've known Wilson long enough to know that there's a certain calculation behind the boyish good looks and coy responses. He knows how to play games, but rarely does he let you know he's even playing.

So I went along with it. I pretended to review the various handouts I'd been handed that day, concentrating on some chart that explained cost-effectiveness of recycling aluminum. We arrived in Linden with another lurch, and my thigh found itself nestled firmly against Wilson's left leg. I bit back a grin and stared at the literature that I barely cared about.

Two stops later, he edged his foot next to mine, his brown leather loafer bumping my black heel. Slowly, he nudged my foot closer, crossing it in front of his, bringing our legs in complete contact.

"You know, Cuddy," he began.

"Yes?" I looked at our intertwined legs, then at him. He seemed pleased and a little bashful all at once, like the boy who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but still managed to stuff one or two in his mouth. It's a look James Wilson has mastered – and he usually reserved it for when he and House needed something from me. Wilson would disarm me with that charm, then House would keep me guessing with his witticisms. I almost always gave into them – partly because I trust House, but mostly because it was so hard to refuse Wilson's soft and pleading looks.

"I enjoy it when you're… comfortable," he said. The words come out slowly and precisely, as if he'd been picking and choosing them by hand. "Not that I enjoy it when you're uncomfortable. You just look like you need a little… 'need' is a bad word. House says I thrive on people who need me. Not that you need me…"

His hand reached for that metaphorical knot in his neck. Whenever he's flustered, his train of thought takes off without any destination. I laughed and let my hand fall to his knee. "I'm perfectly comfortable," I said reassuringly. "Though… I would be a bit more comfortable if…" I crooked my neck toward his shoulder, suggesting my head could find a nice home there, and watched for his reaction.

I could have sworn he blushed as he said, "Oh. By all means."

Like a pair of silly high schoolers, we sat nuzzled up against each other for the rest of the ride. Once, he reached over and ruffled my hair. I smiled into his shoulder. Just as my eyes began to grow heavy, Wilson shifted and murmured in my ear:

"Now that I've got you in this comfort zone, I'm wondering if I can nudge you out of it."

Goosebumps zoomed up and down my flesh as I lifted my head. Just as I was about to ask exactly what he meant by that, he slid his hand up my arm and leaned forward.

But if I ever wondered what it was like to kiss James Wilson, I wasn't about to find out today. The train lurched forward and jerked back, and the automated voice pleasantly announced that we had arrived at Princeton Junction.

The momentum had been lost as both of us shifted to regain our balance. The realization that we were home again was suddenly a huge disappointment. The train ride was a comfortable place outside of reality and I didn't want it to end.

"I… that's our stop," I said.

He seemed disappointed, and I felt a surge of hatred for NJ Transit.

We stepped out onto the platform and back to the parking lot. I was a mix of exhausted and delighted and confused and warm and hoped a glass of wine and my satin comforter would eventually clear my head and lead me to a good night's sleep so that I could deal with my feelings in the morning.

"Well, my car's this way," I said as we approached the main lot.

"Ah," Wilson replied. He looked like he wanted to say more. Finally, he managed something. "Well, today was an adventure, wasn't it?"

I smiled. "It certainly was." Never mind the fact that my right leg was still tingling from being next to his.

"Well, I'll let you get home. I think I'm headed there myself. To my house, I mean. I meant that I wasn't going back to the hospital tonight. Not that I was heading….well. Goodnight, Lisa," he finished.

"Goodnight, James." I said softly.

Somehow I knew Wilson's best efforts to resurrect that moment weren't going to work. Not right now.

"Wilson," I said.

He turned back.

"The AMA conference. It's next month in D.C."

"So it is," he said slowly, a sly grin spreading across his face. "I hear the Acela Express gets you there in two and a half hours."

"We should probably look into that," I asserted.

"We should. We could… discuss it tomorrow. At lunch," he offered.

"Perfect."

"See you then," he said, jingling his car keys as he waved.

That trip, I decided, was going to be the best two and a half hours ever.


End file.
